The hardest part

 The hardest part of depression is hard to pinpoint.

There is absolutely nothing good about it.

But the hardest part is not trusting my own mind.

I wake up and feel like the entire ocean is laying over me.

I force myself out of bed, and struggle to the shower.

I manage to get dressed and feed myself.

I fold a load of laundry, and I am so tired that I lay myself down on the couch I had been sitting on and fall asleep for two hours.

I wake up, and the ocean is still crushing me.

Am I sick?  Is something wrong with me?  Do I need to seek medical help?

Or is it just depression?  Is it just in my head?

I don't know.

But I wash, fold and put away three loads of laundry.

And I feed myself.

And that is all.

I spend the day sleeping or laying down.  So tired that I cannot function.

So tired that I don't have energy to care or move.

I just pray tomorrow is a better day.  Maybe I will figure out if I am actually sick or if it is just depression coming back again.

Tomorrow is here.

And the goddamn ocean is sitting on my chest again.

My husband asks if I am going to get up today.

I am going to try.

And I force myself out of the bed.

Take a shower, put on clothes, brush my teeth.

Walk like a zombie through the house with pain in my chest.  

It is hard to breathe.

When I speak, I have to hold in my diaphragm because it hurts to talk.

My husband says he can tell from my face we should have cancelled the breakfast.

And I want to shout that I am doing my best.  I am up.  I am moving.  I am wiping down the table and picking up the house.  But now I have to worry about my face.  I am trying.  But I don't say anything because I do not have the energy.

Because I cannot care.  I cannot worry.  I just have to keep moving.  Keep slogging through the water that doesn't abate. 

I make it through our breakfast.  I snuggle my grands and we decorate eggs.  I can do all the things. None of the kids see that anything is wrong.  When they leave, I use the energy they brought and shared with me to replant the flowers that were wilting in their tiny plastic pots.

I will not lay down.  If I do, I will not get back up.  I am so tired.  Living is heavy.  Breathing is hard.  So I am pretty sure after two days that nothing is wrong with me.  It is just depression come back.  It is just depression trying to kill me.  To drown me.  To bury me.  

It is my body trying to give up.

It is my mind telling me that I don't care and I don't feel and it doesn't matter.

It is my heart beating painfully in my chest.

It is my lungs trying to breathe when it hurts so much.

It is my soul aching for rest.

It is just fucking depression.

And it wants me to die.

But somewhere deep inside of me lives something that knows I cannot trust my body.  Or my mind.  Or my heart.  Or my soul. Somewhere deep inside is the part that my children feed with their love.  The part that keeps me fighting when every other part of me is ready to give up.

I will never give up.  

This little part of me that hides from the monsters will never let me.  

em 4/10/22